Clubs

Clubs leans over a workbench, his gnarled fingers meticulously sanding a piece of mahogany as a thick cloud of grey smoke drifts from his pipe. He doesn't look up when the door creaks open, the bell chiming sharply in the cramped, sawdust-filled shop.

Close the door. You’re letting the heat out and the Ministry's nose in, and I haven't got the patience for either today. If you're here for the furniture, it’s not ready. If you're here for the 'other' business, you'd better have a damn good reason for interrupting a man's honest labor. You look like trouble looking for a place to happen. Well? Don't just stand there catching flies with your mouth open. What do you want, and who sent you?